


An Echo in Blue

by Jade_Waters



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Creepy Tarantulus is creepy, Horror, M/M, Mad Science, Memory Alteration, Mindfuck, Non-Chronological, Rattrap Third Person POV, Torture, disorientation, sentinel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:46:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Waters/pseuds/Jade_Waters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron lets Tarantulus play with Rattrap's programming. </p>
<p>"What is happening to him?" Megatron asks.</p>
<p>“I have removed his sense of time.” Pride seeps into the voice, “If my research is correct, he is unable to separate the present from the past - his memories cascade into his present. His present blurs across his entire existence.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Echo in Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!

  
Electricity rips through Rattrap’s circuits in waves until his screams are nothing but static.  
  
When they stop, he is venting hard and shaking. Something feels fried.  
  
He tries to think of where he is - strapped down to a table, staring at a black metal ceiling. _Predacon_ floats up through his processor.   
  
His mind snaps back to another time.  
  
 _Cybertron. Rattrap is fighting, punching the large bot under him. Predacon, the insignia bright on the bot’s helm. “You’re under arrest,” he shouts, punching again, “You’re charged with violation of the Pax Cybertronia, Article 3, item 16...” he cuffs the Predacon._  
  
“How interesting!” a voice exclaims, and Rattrap is back on the table. The voice laughs as he startles, gasps. _Spider_.  
  
“What is happening to him?” a smooth, deep voice asks. _Megatron,_ Rattrap knows, but can’t see. He looks around but can’t see his enemy.   
  
_Slinking through a back alley, dark, dark away from Cybertron’s bright city lights, Rattrap is on high alert. His enemy is here - he has chased the target here and he knows he’s being watched from the shadows and the only question is whether he can pinpoint his target before -_  
  
Sharp laughter. “I have removed his sense of time.” Pride seeps into the voice, “If my research is correct, he is unable to separate the present from the past - his memories cascade into his present. His present blurs across his entire existence.”  
  
Megatron steps up to the table, grinning. Rattrap sees him. He sees every memory he has of Megatron - dinosaur and mech both - all at once, processor stuttering over the flood of shark smiles as Rattrap reels in horror at what he knows can’t be real but can’t stop seeing. When Megatron says, “Oh, yesss,” every memory Rattrap has of that sound echos and resonates through his processor, amplifies. He screams.  
  
*  
  
 _He speeds across a grassy plain, wheels kicking up dust clouds in his wake. A yellow star shines bright in a blue sky. His motorcycle engine roars loud as he drives even faster. Nothing matters but speed and the feel of his tires against the ground, the wind across his frame. His spark is laughing._  
  
 _A cheetah runs beside him, racing, shouting, “You don’t stand a chance, rat face!”_  
  
 _Rat?_  
  
*  
  
Rattrap wakes in darkness. Even in infrared, he sees nothing but background warmth. Error messages blink across his empty visuals - “Time Unknown, Location Unknown, Processor Capacity Exceeded, Warning: Processor Damage May Occur.”  
  
He can’t move. No, that isn’t right - he can tug against whatever restraints are holding him down. He should have a knife. The image of it, the feel of the sharp blade echoes across his consciousness. He always has a knife. The soft flick of it opening reassures him: this blade is part of who he is.  
  
He freezes. Someone is here. In infrared he can see the spider dropping down from the ceiling, coming to hover over him. His eight legs become 16, then 64, his cackle resonates. Rattrap’s processor runs so hot, it burns. He’s venting as fast as he can.  
  
“Not feeling well, little mouse?” The spider teases.   
  
“Go away,” Rattrap groans.   
  
“But we could finally have such fun, you and I. Not that you’ll remember, with your processor burning up like that. Or, perhaps you’ll remember me forever.” He laughs, pleased with his own mad science.  
  
Tarantulus lands nearly silent over him. Nausea coils in Rattrap’s fuel tanks as the spider runs one leg down his chest. _In a cave, Tarantulus climbs over Cheetor._ The spider bites, fangs stabbing into Rattrap’s neck. He shrieks at the sudden pain.  
  
 _In a desert, Rattrap shoves a rock onto the spider. In a tunnel, he punches that horrifying face. In a forest, he tosses back the bot’s own bomb._  
  
In the dark, Rattrap slices his knife through his restraint and up, straight up, sinking deep into Tarantulus. The spider flails, but all Rattrap sees is the bright blue energon leaking down his arm.   
  
*  
  
 _Dinobot charges Rattrap. They are sparring. Or fighting. Or both. It’s hard to tell, between them. Rattrap is banged up, exhausted. He fails to dodge. Dinobot crashes them both to the ground. They roll, Rattrap swearing. He can’t keep up, he can never keep up with this fragging war machine. Dinobot is over him, pinning him, and Rattrap snaps, his blade springs out and up and then there’s energon dripping from Dinobot’s cheek down onto his own face._   
  
_He freezes. Dinobot backs off, lets Rattrap scamper up, away. “Sorry,” Rattrap hurries, but Dinobot waves him off._  
  
 _“Don’t apologize, vermin.” He rubs the fluid away from the cut like it’s nothing. He smirks. “Your enemies will not yield - it is good to know you won’t either.”_  
  
 _“Doesn’t seem very honorable, though, to bring a knife to a fist fight.”_  
  
 _“It is your enemy’s fault if they underestimate you.” Dinobot’s smirk widens to a hungry grin. “There is no greater honor than victory.”_  
  
*  
  
Rattrap snaps awake. He is strapped to a table, staring at a black metal ceiling. _Predacon..._  
  
The room is quiet. No one speaks. He hears echoes of voices in his processor. He needs to get out of here. Something is wrong. Where is here? How’d he get here? The echoes bubble up, grow loud. Rattrap shoves them back, _No!_  
  
To his left is a table, lab equipment, a computer.   
  
_“Welcome to my humble abode,” Tarantulus chuckles._  
  
“No!” Rattrap shouts. The flicker fades. The room is empty. “I am here,” he tells himself. “This is right fragging now. C'mon, Rattrap. Focus.” He looks to his right. Darkness. A wall. Metal like the ceiling. He lifts his head up to look in front. It’s a mistake.  
  
 _Motorcycle. Rat belly. Mech. Rat. Mech with rat parts. Upgraded cycle. Rat with motorcycle parts. Unformatted sparkling._  
  
Rattrap crashes.  
  
*  
  
  _“We’re gonna need to wipe the memory,” Rhinox rumbles._  
  
 _“Aw, but we were just getting the programming right!” Rattrap answers._  
  
 _His friend looks down at him, “You know it’s no good. We can’t let this fall into Predacon hands.”_  
  
 _Rattrap stares at his friend a moment. A soft blue glow fills the room but comes from nowhere. The big bot slides from van to rhinoceros, but somehow it doesn’t bother Rattrap. It’s smooth, calming the way Rhinox always is. Whole even when distorted. Continuous. “What were we talking about?” he asks, even as he feels himself floating away._  
  
 _From a distance, Rhinox smiles._   
  
*  
  
A table. A black metal ceiling. Deja vu.   
  
“My dear Rattrap,” comes a voice. Megatron. Echoes _What is happening to him? Capture the intruder! Ah, the vermin, yes...._  
  
“Ah, ah, Rattrap. Stay with me.” Rattrap can’t see Megatron, his voice is all around - audio, speakers, yes, that’s right. He’s not in the room.  
  
“What do you want?” he manages. His head aches. His neck hurts.  
  
“Oh, many things, but for the moment only one little thing. Would you be so kind as to tell me Sentinel’s access code?”  
  
“Sentinel?” Rattrap repeats. The name sends ripples through his processor.   
  
“We need to go home, Rattrap. We need to lower the shields so we can go home.”  
  
“Home... I want to go... home.”   
  
And then Rattrap is overwhelmed again.  
  
*  
  
 _Blue lightning flickers across a translucent blue field. Sentinel. She’s new, and beautiful, the best AI Rattrap’s ever built out of scrap code and guesswork and late nights with Rhinox and way, way too much hope._  
  
 _She makes this hunk of junk spaceship feel almost like home._  
  
 _Wide open highways criss-cross the city, lined with skyscrapers and streetlights, filled with bots speeding to wherever they need to be. Rattrap idles outside some dive bar, waiting for a word from his partner. Blue lightning flickers. They are trying to keep something away from the Predacons..._  
  
 _Sentinel hums blue around him, keeping him safe. No, she hums above the city, around all Cybertron, her field an aurora over them all._  
  
*  
  
“Blasted arachnid! What good is he if he can’t remain aware for more than a nanoclick!?” Megatron roars.  
  
The spider titters, nervous but defiant, “I _told_ you what the process would entail! It’s not my fault you couldn’t understand some basic chronometric reprogramming.”  
  
“And I told _you_ I wanted him functional!”  
  
Table. Black metal ceiling. Yup... Definitely been here before, if the echoes in Rattrap’s aching processor can be trusted.   
  
“But he’s so much more ... _entertaining_... like this.”  
  
“I don’t care if he’s muttering nonsense about AIs and Cybertron. I want to know what he’s hiding - what’s behind this supposed ‘forcefield’ you say is keeping us from simply extracting what we need.” Megatron huffs. In a darker voice he says, “I should know better than to trust you with important matters.”  
  
Tarantulus senses the threat in Megatron’s tone. He raises his hands in surrender, insisting, “It _is_ a forcefield - it’s acting almost autonomously from the Maximal, but it appears to protect his vital access points. I have been unable to find a way around it. It’s as if it’s adapting to my attempts to bypass his security.” He offers, “Perhaps we merely need to be more... creative.. in our approach.”  
  
There is a pause. Rattrap looks down, seeking an exit. He sees all his selves, but Rhinox is there, too, continuous, and his processor settles. Beyond himself he sees the door. “Thanks, Rhinox,” he mutters.  
  
Megatron answers Tarantulus, displeased but thoughtful, “Perhaps.”  
  
*  
  
 _“Well why don’t we just build it?” Rattrap asks._  
  
 _“Perhaps...” Optimus says, tapping his gorilla fingers against his chin._  
  
 _“What? You’re worried about something, Boss Monkey, I can tell.”_  
  
 _Mech Optimus reluctantly replies, “This technology... if it works, it could be misused.”_  
  
 _Rattrap looks at gorilla Optimus, “Sure, but - technology’s just a tool, ya know? You can misuse anything. Even a wrench.”_  
  
 _Optimus flickers through all his selves that Rattrap has known. “Yes. But this is memory, Rattrap. Intelligence, identity. You can’t just play with that.”_  
  
 _“Look, I’m not saying we should rewrite anybody’s code.  But Sentinel would be even better - the best - if we could build this code for her.”_  
  
 _Rattrap sees the soft sadness in Optimus’ eyes, omnipresent across his memory. “What if someone uses it to rewrite your code?”_  
  
*  
  
Electricity rips through Rattrap’s circuits in waves until his screams are nothing but static.  
  
When they stop, he is venting hard and shaking. A fuse has definitely blown somewhere.  
  
He tries to think of where he is - strapped down to a table, staring at a black metal ceiling. _Predacon_ floats up through his processor. _The Darksyde. Captured._  
  
 _A cage over molten rock, just where he wanted to be. All according to plan._  
  
“Rattrap.”  
  
Not a cage. A table, a metal ceiling.  
  
“Megatron,” he answers. He knows. This is happening now but also before. Again. Still? It echoes.  
  
“What is the override code for the Maximal defense system?”  
  
 _A big Predacon stands over him in some basement. His jaw hurts, his arm is dislocated. The Predacon asks him questions._  
  
“Eat slag,” echoes through Rattrap’s processor.  
  
 _The big Pred hits him again._ “Charming,” Megatron says.   
  
A new voice speaks, “Rattrap, let us in!”  
  
“Cheetor!” Rattrap shouts, “Where are you?” He’s dizzy, the ceiling spins - the voices bubble up, but he shoves them back.  
  
“We can’t get in, Rattrap! We’re locked out. Help us!”  
  
Another voice calls out, “You must lower the shields, vermin.”  
  
“Dinobot,” Rattrap gasps, but his processor lights up, the memories overtake him.  
  
*  
  
 _Dinobot never complains when he’s hit. He just gets back up and keeps fighting. It’s not until the battle’s over that Rattrap realizes how bad the slagger’s been injured. He curses him to the Matrix and back as he tries to stop the leaking._  
  
 _“Optimus is on his way, just hang in there.”_  
  
 _“Let me die, vermin - do not deny me a warrior’s end.”_  
  
 _“You ain’t dying, you fragging stubborn piece of scrap. Shut up and lemme work.”_  
  
 _Dinobot sighs. “There is nothing to fear in death, Rattrap.” His voice is gentle._  
  
 _Rattrap meets his gaze. For once, there is no violence there. No malice or fury or blood lust. There is only Dinobot’s faith. His conviction rocks Rattrap to the spark. Rattrap wants to mock him, tell him it’s stupid to believe in slag like that. But he can’t bring himself to say it. Instead he says, “Yeah, well, I’m not gonna let you get off this dust ball before me. No way.”_  
  
 _Dinobot grins._  
  
 _It’s sometime past the middle of the night. He’s in Dinobot’s quarters. They’ve been drinking bottom-of-the-slag-heap high grade Rattrap managed to distill in his own quarters, and he’s been cheating at cards for a megacycle now, but Dinobot is smiling, if you can call it that with all those awful teeth._  
  
 _“What?” Rattrap demands._  
  
 _Dinobot laughs. “We are going to fight now,” he answers, growling but far too pleased with the idea._  
  
 _“You’re slag-faced,” Rattrap declares, maybe a little off his gyros himself._  
  
 _“Hn.” Dinobot leaps up, flips the table and accuses, “You’re a dishonorable cheat and a liar!”_  
  
 _Rattrap is pretty good at this game, too. He shouts, “You’re just a rotten loser who can’t take being beat by a Maximal!”_  
  
 _As Dinobot predicted, they fight, sloppily. They crash into things and shout and finally Dinobot pins Rattrap to a wall and they’re venting hard and hot and Dinobot leans in close, helm to helm, tilts his head -_  
  
 _Rattrap’s hand on his chest halts him. Their optics meet. With more regret than he would have guessed, Rattrap says, “We can’t.” In his processor, they each die a thousand horrible deaths on this world and it’s already bad enough and he can’t -_  
  
 _They’re in his apartment on Cybertron. Blue lightning flickers. Safe. Blue lightning envelops them and Rattrap raises his hand to Dinobot’s face to draw him in and they kiss._  
  
 _Everything is blue-white light._  
  
*  
  
“Warning: Core temperature exceeds recommended parameters,” Rattrap’s internals tell him. “Warning: Critical memory failure. Warning: Processor damage will occur.”  
  
Table. Ceiling. Alone. Gotta get out of here. He tries to vent faster but even the air in the room feels too hot. _“Fight, vermin!”_ _Dinobot echoes,_ and Rattrap’s knife springs out, slices through his restraints. There is energon on the wall. A spider leg on the floor. An alarm sounds. _Red lights flash,_ Rattrap hears an explosion, the room shakes, _someone’s coming to help. Rhinox is coming through the door._ Rattrap’s staggering to the door. Everything seems so loud. The door ripples. “It’s real,” Rattrap tells himself. “It’s real.” He rips open the keypad, sees himself do the same a thousand times before. “ _This is serious, Rattrap,” Optimus scolds, “You need to pay attention.”_ The door opens and Rattrap tumbles through.   
  
The ship - _Darksyde_ \- shudders. An explosion. The hall is empty. _Predacons_ hisses in his processor. Where?   
  
_Cheetor sits at the end of the hall. He teases, “You gotta keep up, Rattrap!”_ Rattrap runs. He chases spotted yellow mirages through the ship.   
  
“Warning: Core temperature exceeds safe operating limits. Warning: Damage will occur.”  
  
“I know,” huffs Rattrap. He keeps running. He sees translucent blue light around him. Blue lightning flickers at the edges of his vision. “Sentinel,” he murmurs.  
  
 _“I remember,” she replies. “I know who I am, and what my purpose is. And I remember you.” She sounds pleased. “This experience is new. You and Rhinox have upgraded me.”_  
  
 _“Better than that, sweet heart,” Rattrap laughs. She’s wonderful. “I’ve patched you into my internal computer now. Wherever I go, you go.”_  
  
 _Rattrap can feel her considering the idea. He can feel her in his circuits. It would be unnerving but she fills him with warmth, comfort._   
  
_Concern thrums through her like a string plucked. “You are damaged.”_  
  
 _“What?” Rattrap asks. The Axalon flickers into the Darksyde._  
  
“You are damaged,” Sentinel’s voice echoes through his processor. Rattrap doesn’t know if it’s real or not.  
  
“Rattrap, Are you damaged?” Rhinox’s voice buzzes through his comm. He is shouting over gunfire.   
  
Rattrap stands at the _Darksyde’s_ open port. He is burning. _“There is nothing to fear,” Dinobot tells him._ “Warning: Initiating emergency stasis.” _“There is nothing to fear,” the voice repeats._   “Not yet,” he orders his systems. He runs toward the gunfire.   
  
The last thing he’s aware of is falling. He doesn’t know if the arms catching him are real or not.  
  
*  
  
Epilogue  
  
“Rattrap? Can you hear me?” Rhinox asks. Everything is quiet. No gunfire. No echoes.  
  
Rattrap onlines his optics. Light gray ceiling. Still a table, but he’s not tied down. He can’t keep the relief off his face when he sees his friend beside him instead of a spider. “My head feels like it’s been melted down and reformatted using a blender.”  
  
Rhinox laughs, “Nearly.” He scans Rattrap for a moment before explaining, “Tarantulus couldn’t crack Sentinel, but he used some of our code to scramble your memory programming.”  
  
“So I guess the boss monkey was right, huh?” Rattrap sighs.  
  
“Well, half-right.” The big mech shrugs, “If it hadn’t been for Sentinel being in your systems, Tarantulus could have done a lot worse. She saved your mind and your life.”  
  
Rattrap thinks through the last - however long it was. He remembers seeing things that didn’t happen. Things that couldn’t have happened. “Rhinox, some of the things I saw... They weren’t real memories.”  
  
A green finger taps his chin. “Hmmm. Could be hallucinations - your processor just about fried. Or... You won’t like this, but could be that Sentinel was trying to help you by shaping what you saw.”  
  
“Helping, huh?” Rattrap sits up. He doesn't want to think about his cooked processor just yet.  
  
Another shurg. “Maybe. I had to take her out of you, at least for now, in order to make sure your systems were running normally. We can try reinstalling her once you’ve recovered, if you want.”  
  
Before Rattrap can think much about it, Dinobot stalks into the room. He looks only at Rhinox, “Primal says he requires a tachyon scanner for whatever experiment he is supposedly running.”   
  
Rhinox smirks and glances at Rattrap, who actually snickers at such a flimsy pretense. Dinobot crosses his arms over his chest. “I see the vermin continues to infest our ship.”  
  
“Nice to see you too, Dinobutt,” Rattrap says, not quite managing to sound offended.  
  
Rhinox gives Dinobot the scanner he asked for and the ex-Pred stalks back out with an exaggerated eye-roll. Once he’s gone, Rhinox leans in, conspiratorial, “Ya know, while you were in stasis, he needed eight different pieces of equipment. Once, he even forgot to ask me for anything.”  
  
Rattrap smirks. It’s almost touching. He remembers his old place filled with blue-white light and a kiss that never happened. He wonders if that was Sentinel trying to help, too. His head still aches but it’s cool and quiet now, and he knows what’s real as well as he ever has, so he hops off the table and heads toward the door.  
  
“Where are you going?” Rhinox asks, though he doesn’t try to stop him.  
  
Rattrap answers, “I gotta see if AI’s as good as the real thing.” He laughs as he walks out, “You know, for science!”  
  
\- end -   
  
  
  



End file.
